Title: Love Is Spelt Like Your Fist
Author:
repulsive_xRating: I'm just gonna keep it at R for general sexual content, swearing, alcohol and maybe some drug use, abuse.
Pairing: Brendon Urie/Ryan Ross, Brendon Urie/Jon Walker
POV: Third
Summary: Brendon Urie is what some would call 'privileged'. He was born into money, and was graced with good looks. He has good friends, and an amazing boyfriend that most people only dream of. Then Ryan Ross came along, and made that all change.
Disclaimer: fake like bdens denial of being a flaming homosexual (and for once in a fic, i would also like it to stay this way)
Beta: Jenumn,
roadsidefuryAuthor's Notes: This is a fic about an abusive relationship, so if you're sensitive to that kind of thing, DO NOT READ!
Previous Chapters C H A P T E R ` T W E N T Y - F I V E
Brendon’s getting used to this whole staying at home alone thing. He’s getting used to the rules, to feeling like a prisoner in what is supposed to be his own home. He’s getting used to Ryan coming home drunk and high every night, smelling like smoke and strip joints. He’s used to seeing Keltie in new designer dresses, expensive jewelry dangling off her wrists and neck. He’s used to getting covering his face with makeup Ryan leaves conveniently sitting on the bathroom counter, but never speaks of. Brendon’s used to being there, always there when Ryan’s angry or needs something, but he knows he’s not really there. He breathes, and walks, and talks, but he can't remember the last time he really felt something, can't remember the last time he really thought, wow, I really am someone. Brendon can't even remember what that feels like anymore. He can't remember what it feels like to be him, Brendon Boyd Urie, son of Grace and Boyd Urie.
After the episode with Jon, Brendon hasn’t really been to school, or maybe not at all, he can't quite remember anymore. He spends his time wandering around the large expanse of the house, running his fingers over every surface but not really thinking. He writes a lot too. He just writes, and writes, pages upon pages of letter to Jon, tucked inside hundreds of envelopes that are held tightly together by elastics, hidden in the back of the guest-room closet.
He also talks to Mr. Kitty a lot, which at one point, made him feel a little crazy, but he’s well past the point of caring anymore. Sometimes, when the lack of communication from Mr. Kitty’s end becomes a little on the drab side, he’ll settle with talking to the cleaning lady, Lucy. Lucy’s seen him with cuts, and bruises, and fresh bloody noses, but she’s never done anything, never spoke of it, but he doesn’t blame her. She’s got a husband and four kids, is uneducated and barely speaks English, and this job, cleaning a millionaire's boyfriend's blood off the carpet, is probably the only one she can get that pays enough to support her family.
Jac comes over sometimes too. She always jokes and smiles, treats Brendon like a real person, even after she showed up that one time, early morning, before Brendon had the chance to cover his face in beige concealer, and saw the big, black contusions decorating his skin. She didn’t say anything, and just like Lucy, Brendon didn’t blame her. Maids, and assistants, and fucking cooks see these things everyday, and never say a word. That’s their job. They do what they’re asked and keep their mouths shut on what they might see during. Brendon knows this, and he thinks, if he were them, he’d probably do the same.
Plus, the way Brendon sees it, who really cares about the stupid kid who gets beaten by his casino owning, multi-millionaire boyfriend anyway?
That’s right. No one.
- x-
Brendon’s lying on the couch watching an episode of Lost, when he hears a sharp buzzing sound coming from the hallway. Brendon almost doesn’t know what it is at first, it’s been so long since he's heard it, but when he gets up and makes his way toward the hallway he realizes it’s the intercom. He frowns because besides Lucy, Jac and Keltie, who all have access to the condo without permission from Brendon, no one else ever really visits besides the rare times they come with Ryan.
Brendon waits for the second buzz before he slowly, but carefully presses the answer button. “Hello?”
“Yes, Mr. Urie, a Mr. Spencer Smith is here to see you,” Ray, the doorman drawls.
Brendon stares ahead at the intercom, feeling the tiny hairs prickle at the back of his neck.
“Mr. Urie?”
Brendon clears his throat. “Um, yeah. Sorry.”
“Would you like to speak to him or should I just send him up?”
Honestly, Brendon doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. Ryan gave him strict orders that no one was to come up when he wasn’t home, unless, of course, it was either Jac or Lucy, and made it very clear there’d be consequences to pay if he did otherwise. But it’s just Spencer, his friend, best friend, and he wouldn’t mind. Would he?
“Mr. U - ”
“Um, let me talk to him, please,” Brendon says, voice breaking.
“Certainly,” the intercom replies. There’s a pause, then Spencer’s voice is coming through. “Brendon, hey. It’s Spencer. You remember me, right?”
“Um. Yeah. Of course.”
“I was just in town for the day and thought I’d stop by,” he explains.
“Ryan’s actually not home,” Brendon says, a little panicky.
“That’s okay,” Spencer replies, wholeheartedly, “I’m sure he won't mind.”
No, the thinks, he will mind. He’d never say it to you but he’d accuse me of cheating, with you, his best friend, the second you were out of earshot. He’d call me a slut, a whore, tell me I’ve been sneaking around his back, that I’m fucking you on top of Jon, William, and any other guy I’ve ever talked to in my life. He’d accuse me of being ungrateful, say that I can't follow the rules of his house, not mine. “I, uh, I’m not sure. Maybe you should just wait until he comes back,” he suggests, weakly, voice hitching slightly.
“Brendon,” Spencer says with an exasperated edge to it, “I’m his best friend, I’m pretty sure he won't care. Plus, it’s not like I’m a stranger, you know me.”
Brendon runs his clammy palms over his thighs, takes a shaky breath, and thinks that maybe he needs to sit down for a second or two before he passes out. “No, Spencer. Please. Just - no.” He realizes his voice sounds a little desperate, a little scared, and Spencer would have to be pretty stupid not to pick up on it. He thinks that if Ryan were to see him right now he’d get a fat lip for being too obvious. “Where are you staying? I’ll get him to call you as soon as he gets home. I promise.”
“Brendon, I’m staying here - ” there’s a ruffle on the other line, and then a rough voice in the background whom Brendon can only assume is Ray. “No, it’s fine. No,” Spencer says distantly. “He’s my friend. Fine.” He sighs, and says, to Brendon now, “can you please let me up? You’re making your doorman think I’m a stalker.”
Brendon takes a deep breath, thinks this over, and instead of buzzing him up he says, “I’ll be right down”
Spencer’s about halfway through an annoyed ‘Jesus Christ’ when Brendon hangs up. He can hear his heart pounding soundly in his ears as he makes his way to his bedroom to find a sweater to cover his arms. Spencer’s not going to let him off the hook this easy, he’s not just going to go away, and he knows it, so what is he supposed to do exactly? He’s running out of ideas - that’s if he had any to begin with.
He’s standing in the middle of the elevator, watching as the light moves from the 26 to the 25 above, when he realizes he could just get Spencer to call Ryan and ask if it’s okay. That way, Ryan would have to be the one to make up the excuses. Yeah, that’s it. But - but what if Ryan gets mad at him because he answered the phone? He doesn’t remember that ever being a rule, but there’s so many that Brendon can barely keep track and it definitely sounds like it could be one. Or what if Ryan gets mad at him because he made such a big deal of Spencer coming in? Maybe it’s not a big deal at all, maybe he doesn’t care, and Ryan will just get mad at him for making Spencer think that it is.
By the time the elevator door opens, and he’s greeted by the sight of Spencer and Ray, he’s about two seconds from falling on the ground and passing out. There’s so many possible scenarios running through his head right now, all of which that end with Ryan’s fist to his face.
“Hi Spence,” Brendon says unsteadily, wrapping his arms around his woozy stomach.
To say that Spencer looks a little on the irate side would be an understatement, but he forces back a tight smile anyways and Brendon can't say he blames him either. Brendon can't really blame anyone anymore but himself. “Alright,” he says, moving towards him and away from Ray’s questioning eyes, “so now that you see it's me can I come up now?”
Brendon fidgets, bites his lip and says, “Spence, I really want you to, but…” He trails off, not really knowing what else to say.
Spencer says nothing as he lets his eyes search Brendon, intense but speculative, like he’s peeling apart layers Brendon didn't even know he had anymore. He has to look down at his feet, cheeks heating and ashamed. “Brendon,” he says deeply, voice changing into something Brendon’s never heard from him before, “where did you get that bruise?”
Brendon squeezes his eyes shut, and oh God, oh God, he’s going to puke right here, all over the expensive lobby tiles. He was in such a panic he forgot to look in the mirror to make sure the makeup he applied hours ago hadn’t rubbed off. “What one?” he asks, feigning innocence, as he forces himself to look back up at Spencer. He focuses on his nose.
“The one on your cheek.” He pauses, looks him over. “Why, are there more?”
“No. No!” Brendon says quickly, shaking his head. He clears his throat, looks over to where Ray stands with his back to them by the front door. “I just - I forgot I had it. Um, it’s nothing. I just - in gym, I had a ball thrown at my face, it’s really no big deal.” Brendon thinks that this whole lying to Spencer thing would be a whole lot easier if he had never overheard that conversation between him and Haley.
“What about that cut?”
Brendon freezes, pressing his fingers to his eyebrow where a small, thin wound ran through. He had actually forgotten about that one. “I - it’s just, um, it’s from my cat, we play fight a lot. Sometimes he gets a little vicious.”
Spencer continues to stare at him, gaze hard but expression softened. He knows, he so knows, and Brendon wants to keel over and die.
“Anyways,” he says hurriedly, changing the subject, “where are you staying?”
“I’m staying here,” Spencer replies, stubborn.
“I, uh - ” Brendon can feel the bile, slowly rising up his esophagus, his throat, filling his mouth.
“Look, okay, you know what? I’ll call Ryan right now. Then will you’ll let me in?” Spencer asks, letting out a long, distressed sigh.
Brendon swallows the bile back down his throat, and nods, slowly.
Spencer pulls his phone from his pocket, punches in Ryan’s number and stands there, hip jutted to the side as he waits for him to pick up. “Hi Ryan.” He pauses. “Good. Yeah. Um, actually - no.” He pauses, again, and impatiently taps his foot against the marble. “Ryan, hey. Ryan. I’m at your condo. Yeah. No, Brendon’s standing right here. I just wanted to call to see if it’s okay if I stay for the night. Yeah? Okay. Yeah, I’m there right now. Alright. Yeah, alright. Okay. Bye.” Spencer snaps his phone shut, slips it back into his pocket and looks up at Brendon. “He said it’s fine.”
Brendon nods, and runs his palms back over his thighs, taking a deep, calming breath. He’s okay. Ryan said it’s fine, and even if he is mad, that gives him a whole day in preparation because it’s not like he’d do anything if Spencer was there, right? “Okay. Yeah.” He pauses, swallows again, and mumbles a quiet, “sorry.”
Spencer shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.” He gives Brendon a reassuring pat on the back as they make their way to elevator, and Brendon cant help but flinch instinctively.
Spencer gives him a sideways glance, concern thick in his eyes, and Brendon holds onto his breath, waiting for the acquisitions. However, they don’t come and Brendon breathes a tiny sigh of relief. There was a reason he hasn’t been back to school, and he doesn’t need to start getting it at his own house.
“It’s nice to see you, Brendon,” Spencer says after they pass a few floors in the elevator.
Brendon forces a smile, and says, “You too.”
- x -
Brendon goes to bed early that night. He wasn’t tired, but he figured by the looks Ryan was sending him, they just wanted some alone time together to catch up. If Brendon learned anything in these past few months, it's to take hints. Plus, Ryan was drinking and it always makes Brendon a little uneasy now when Ryan was around alcohol, whether Spencer was there or not.
Brendon doesn’t sleep much anymore, but when he does he spends the whole time dreaming about Jon. It’s either past memories, or not at all, like a trip they’ve never been on or a party at a friends house that’s never been thrown. One time it was their wedding. Brendon likes those dreams, sleeping is the only time he seems to be happy lately, but it’s too bad that it’s rare thing for him lately.
At one o’clock, after a few, good hours of unsuccessful sleep, Brendon pulls himself from his bed to get a glass of water from the kitchen. He hears Ryan and Spencer’s hushed voices though, just on the other side of the wall as he approaches, and stops short, ears straining to hear, and he can't help but think how familiar this whole thing is.
“ - treating him alright, Ry?”
“What do you mean?” Ryan asks gruffly. “Of course I am.”
There’s a pause, a few crashing of dishes, then, “He just seemed really… on edge when he answered the door.. He didn’t even want to let me in until I called you. He just seemed really different from the last time I saw him.”
There’s another pause, and Brendon listens as one of them pops the cap off a beer.
“And he has bruises and cuts on his face…”
“He’s just clumsy,” Ryan replies automatically, voice a little slurred. “Look, are you saying I beat him? 'Cause, I definitely do not, okay? I wouldn’t touch a hair on that kid.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything, I’m just saying that, well, I know what happened to you before was really shitty, but you can't take it out on Brendon.” He stops, then adds on softly, “you cant take it out on anyone.”
“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, Spencer. So just fucking drop it, okay?” Ryan snaps, voice cold. “I wouldn’t hurt Brendon.” There’s some more clanging, and shuffling of footsteps, and Brendon doesn’t waste a second before he’s dashing back down the hallway toward his bedroom before he gets caught eavesdropping. However, not before hearing Ryan softly add on, “I love him.”